For 12 Days of Christmas, Santa Gave To Enterprise
by panicandstartariot
Summary: Santa invades the Enterprise and forces twelve days of manic, crack-tastic Christmas festivities on the crew. Cue reindeer, cookies, nativity plays, in-laws and the Vulcan Tabernacle Choir.
1. A Partridge In A Pear Tree

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except for this little introduction here:

Soooooo…once upon a time, there was a rock of crack. It was a big rock of crack, and it was created by an enabling fic-dealer to satisfy a kinkmeme crack addict. Now, the crack was separated into eight parts, and seven were made public and received unexpected amounts of praise (which at one point made the fic-dealer topple out of her chair in surprise, prompting her roommate to ask "What, did somebody die?!")

The eighth part, however, went unfinished and was locked away in a hard drive for safekeeping. That is, until a certain anonymous person on the kinkmeme said "I want more of this!" and the fic-dealer said "I have more of this!" and went back to finish the eight part. It had begun as a part of the other fic, but was basically stand-alone when it came down to it.

Only she discovered that while she wasn't watching, the crack had become not only more potent (let's think China White), but had separated into 12 parts, each demanding attention and love. The fic-dealer could not stop herself, as per usual, and wound up turning it into a twelve-chapter Christmas Crack Story.

And posting it well after Christmas. Because I have no self-control. Here is part one, with 11 more to follow. -McKown

A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREE

Holy Moses on a matzoh.

It's Santa Claus.

"Well, have you been a good girl this year?" he chuckles, sprawling in the Captain's chair like he owns it. Jim sees red – literally, since the man's wearing the most glaring bright red velvet suit he's ever seen, but also because that's HIS chair. The CAPTAIN's chair. And unless this ship is being drawn through space by Rudolph the Warp-Powered Reindeer, nothing should be in the chair but Jim's own toned ass. The confusion that's been mounting ever since he noticed the course correction and came up to investigate has grown tenfold in a single second. Most of the bridge crew has backed away, except Spock, who is standing beside the chair looking pained and a little homicidal.

Uhura, who is sitting on Santa's lap with his arm around her waist, and is currently mouthing "Save me, NOW!" over the faux-Santa's shoulder, nods her head. "Uh-huh. Sure. Very good."

Jim's halfway onto the bridge, and the door decides it's had enough of him loitering and begins to close on his shoulders, forcing him to take a stumbling step into the room. He bumps into Sulu, who's backed against the bulkhead like he's in shock, muttering something to himself under his breath.

"What's going on? Where's security? Is that Santa?" he asks in succession, not sure if that's the order things should go in, but trusting his helmsman to interpret it all.

"It can't be." Sulu responds.

"Well, what would you like me to bring you for Christmas, dearie?" Santa asks, turning one ear towards her lips confidentially, "It'll be our special secret."

"Why not?" Jim asks, almost reflexively. Looks like Santa to him.

"Because I'm a fucking BUDDHIST and Santa does not exist, okay?" Sulu bites back in an eardrum-puncturing whisper, "And he's weird and won't let anyone near him. We already called security. Whatever that is, it thinks it's Santa and we're little kids."

Uhura, whose free arm is waving frantically behind faux-Santa, squirms awkwardly and stammers, "Uh- um, chocolate…chocolates would be nice. Maybe a hat."

"In a favorite color?" Santa asks gleefully, "How about a purple hat? With sparkles and big pom-pom on top?"

"Er…yes. That would be nice." Uhura says, trying to slide off his lap, "Okay, well, then thanks…"

"Oh, let's sing a song, shall we? Do you know the words to 'Jingle Bells'? It's one of my favorites-" Santa gives a mighty 'ho-ho' and begins with a hearty "Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way-"

Once he notices no one is singing along, except Uhura who is humming and looking panicked, he reaches out and beckons to Spock, "Come, come, Little Elf, sing the song with me! Help out our shy friend!"

"I am not an elf. I am a Vulcan, a race-" Spock says, and from his tone Jim can tell he's repeated this several times already.

"Ooh, Little Elf, he's so very silly! Sing with us, Little Elf!" the Santa-thing laughs merrily, jiggling EXACTLY like a bowl full of jelly, in Jim's opinion, but it only makes Uhura more uncomfortable. As Santa launches into another round of "Oh what fun it is to ride in a warp-nine vessel, hey! Oh, jingle-" she makes her break for it and dashes against the far wall, nearly crushing Ensign Batek in her fervor.

"You dick! Why didn't you _do_ anything?" she hisses at Jim furiously, "That was the most humiliating-"

"- dash to battle stations, fighting in the fray; o'er galaxies we go, exploring all the way! Red-shirts beam on down, most likely to die…"

"It looked like a security threat? Christ, Uhura, it's Santa Claus, I'm not gonna stun the guy, besides, you were in contact, it would've knocked you out too-"

"-what fun it is to fly a Constitution Class tonight! Oh, jingle bells, jingle bells…"

"THERE IS NO GODDAMN SANTA! That is- that is a disturbing, strange apparition-"

Security takes that opportunity to finally arrive, and a team of six pours onto the bridge and quickly surrounds the Santa-guy before he can launch into the second verse.

"Oh, now, this won't do at all." Santa says reproachfully, and then he twitches his nose and their uniforms are suddenly very…seasonal. They've retained the red shirts (though everyone's Fleet insignia have morphed into little blinking Christmas trees) but instead of phasers they now have water pistols. Also, they are wearing green tights and curly-toed slippers.

"Ho ho ho! Meeeeeeerry Christmas!" he booms, "Now, who wants to sit on Santa's lap next?"

Lieutenant Wittimer from Botany takes that opportunity to call up to the bridge- "Er, Captain, could someone tell me why there's suddenly an enormous partridge nested in the lab's pear tree?"


	2. Two Turtledoves

Disclaimer: Just taking them out to play. Will have the characters, universe, etc. home by midnight, I promise.

And for those of you still following (hurrah for the reviewers!) here is day two, wherein eggnog is drunk, reindeer are loose, and turtledoves attack. The crack also increases somewhat exponentially.

TWO TURTLEDOVES

The following morning, Santa (who has so far befuddled four security teams by turning their weapons into toys, including several Red Ryder carbine-action, two hundred shot Range Model air rifles with a compass in the stock and a thing which tells time, but will only backfire) is still holding Christmas Court in the Captain's chair, wrestling anyone who gets too near into his lap and refusing to release them until they share their Christmas wishes. It's not harming them, or doing anything, really, but the consequences are still awkward.

So far Lieutenant 'Cupcake' Halley has confessed his desire for some Burt's Bees chapstick and hand lotion, Rand has requested a certain motorized item of a personal nature (prompting Jim to look rather sulky and stalk off the bridge), and a security officer has broken down sobbing, asking for just one Christmas where his parents didn't ask him when he was going to settle down and give them some grandchildren before they die. The situation is not looking up, and Santa is refusing to leave. It also appears he knows exactly what your deepest Christmas wish is- Bones thinks it must be some kind of mind-reading – and unless you confess it, you don't escape his lap.

Jim has called an emergency meeting of his command crew in the mess hall, since there's a small forest of exquisitely decorated Christmas trees in his ready-room. Besides, the replicators keep spontaneously producing mulled cider, and Chef is getting desperate trying to dispose of them all to make room for enormous bowls of eggnog that are balanced on every surface. Only Scotty is not in attendance, since he and most of engineering are still trying to corral the nine reindeer (one of which the Scotsman swears is 'radioactive about the nose') that appeared overnight on E-deck. They are, apparently, nasty buggers.

"One possible theory is that this is merely a mass hallucination." Spock posits. After all, they've been on Red Alert- which is now accompanied by flashing green lights as well as red, though they've silenced the klaxons (mostly because they'd been turned into jingling bells) – for 24 hours now. Everyone is getting a bit on edge and the punchiness is starting to set in.

"You mean, we're all on drugs?" Jim says around a mouthful of cider. Mmm, that _is_ good, and a swig of hot chocolate to wash it down-

"I'd _like_ to be on drugs." McCoy volunteers from the far side of the table.

"This is not seriously happening. I mean, Santa isn't real. This has to be some kind of sentient alien species that's scanned our databases and pulled up random information about holidays and is trying to…fuck with us. Using Christmas. For some reason." Sulu knocks back a slug of eggnog and winces. "Who spiked this? This is like, 80-proof."

"Seems fine to me." Chekov says, taking a healthy gulp, "Spiked eggnog was invented in Russia, you know. Is the original antifreeze." There's silence around the table as their seventeen-year-old helmsman tips back a very large glass of what is mostly alcohol and only nominally eggnog. At this point, nobody is trying to enforce the rules about underage drinking.

"Pavel?" Sulu says quietly.

"Yes, Hikaru?"

"I love you, but shut the _fuck_ up about Russia." Sulu looks about two more utterances of the word 'Santa' from cracking up and going to compulsively tend his rock garden, and, honestly, the rest of them aren't much calmer either.

Just then, Uhura lets out a shriek and dives to the floor, and Spock lashes out at the blurry things that went for her hair in a way that was probably meant to be stealth-ninja, but is actually more spastic-Karate-Kid. The momentum spins him around before he crashes into the table, rebounds, and hits the floor.

"That was graceful." Jim observes as two turtledoves alight on Uhura's chair and dip their beaks into her mug of cider.

"It seems there is actual chocolate in this beverage. I assumed it had come from the replicators…" Spock says from the floor. Then he begins to hum "The Little Drummer Boy".

He's drowned out by the sounds of shouting and some very loud hoofs thundering down the corridor. The motion in the hall sends the automatic doors flying open, and they catch a glimpse of four sprinting red-shirts pursued by a set of very large antlers before the door snaps shut. It's surprising enough that for a few moments, the silence is only broken by a muffled shout of "Down, Blitzen!"

"It's like living in an bad acid trip." McCoy murmurs to himself.

"Captain, something has to be done about this. Two friggin' turtledoves just attacked my hair, Rudolph is loose in the corridors, and you're…sitting here drinking mulled cider!" Uhura fumes as she climbs to her feet, "We can't just sit by and let this thing take over the ship, dammit!"

"I think we should throw the Diplomatic Regulations out the airlock." Sulu says edgily, standing to pace by the window. "And I should go get my katana."

"Do you want to do the paperwork when Star Fleet finds out we've axed the leader of Planet Christmas?" Jim shoots back.

"Do you want to end up in a fruitcake?!" Sulu shouts.

Spock sings quietly "Panic is not helpful, ba-rum-pa-pum-pum."

"There's medicinal marijuana in our stores." McCoy pipes up, "Y'know, for emergencies and such."

They all give him a long look.

"Also, I have bourbon." He adds, "Or Yoohoo for the drunken elf down there."

The turtledoves coo cheerily, and Spock's disembodied voice comes from under the table: "That is _Commander_ Elf, ba-rum-pa-pum-pum."


End file.
